Page 29 of The Art of Being Merry
Am I up for spending four days in a row with this man? I’m not sure I am. He’s already too deep in my head. What I should be doing is spending less time with him.
“I’ll check my schedule, make sure the boys don’t have anything,” I lie. The only thing they have is Atlas’s after-school program on Thursdays, which ends by four-thirty.
It doesn’t deter Dax. “Great. Let me know. I’m free once I close up the shop at five-thirty. I’ll bring dinner.”
“I can cook. Let me know what you like, and I’ll add it to mygrocery list.” The longer this conversation lasts, the more bizarre it gets.
“Sure. Don’t make it sloppy joes and we’re golden.” His perfect lips curve into a smirk. If not for being at his parents’ house and my kids in the other room, I could smack him.
“I can’t believe you remember that.”
He stares at me for several beats, his face a mask of stoicism. I can’t figure out what he’s going to say next, nor what he’ll do. He’s a hard one to nail down and constantly surprising me, especially after today’s shenanigans.
He lets out a breath. “Honestly, I didn’t until the very last minute. My brain was working to come up with what Atlas told me last year, and I pulled it out of my ass. Are you fascinated?”
I’m so flummoxed by his response, all I can say is, “Yeah.” Why am I letting him have such a hold over me today? What Christmas magic is he working?
He beams at my answer as if I complimented him for winning an Olympic record, jutting his chest in the air. “Thought so.” He rubs his palms together. “This is going to be so amazing. Don’t let me down, k?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The words expel from my mouth on a whoosh, giving no forethought to the meaning behind them. Though I don’t expect to let him down. I’m up for the challenge, even before Iknewit was a challenge.
Atlas runs into the room. “Mama, Mr. Nicholas says Santa comes to Winterberry for a visit. Santa himself. Can we go? Please? We have to go. I need to talk to the big guy this year about so much. Say we can go.” He uses his sad puppy dog face, the one he perfected when he was a toddler. To combat it, I conjure memories of when he does something to get into trouble, or I’d give in every time.
“We’ll see when it is,” I start, interrupted by him grabbing my hand. I’m about to reprimand him, but he lets go of my hand and smiles.
“Oops, sorry. Mama, will you please come with me to the living room? Mr. Nicholas has the date on his phone.”
I can’t deny him this. He’s been worried since we moved into the cottage about how Santa’s going to find us this year sincewe’ve been back and forth from Vermont to North Carolina so many times.
“Sure thing, Attie.”
Forgetting I’m coming with him, he races ahead.
“It’s the second Sunday of December,” Dax whispers in my ear. “You know, for when you’re checking your calendar later.”
I turn around, not realizing he’s standing so close. Like a gentleman, he steps back, but the smirk doesn’t disappear. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be there, too.” He waggles his brow and takes off the way Atlas disappears, humming “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.”
What the hell is going on?
Why do I get the sense I won’t be in the dark too long?
After another hour spent with the Nicholas family, we finally depart for our house, leftover mac and cheese and some still-warm holiday cookies in hand. Bethany refused to let us leave empty-handed. How she had time to bake cookies while we were there is a mystery. Was I so involved with the conversation I didn’t realize she was in the kitchen?
You were too enthralled with the youngest Nicholas present,my mind whispers.
I hate that it’s true. I couldn’t keep my gaze from tracking Dax’s movements and from hanging on his every word, like a child with a schoolgirl crush. I can’t understand how it even happened. When did he get so on my radar, so under my skin? It’s one of life’s greatest mysteries.
At home, I throw the boys in the shower together, despite Atlas’s protests. However, one “okay, but no Santa,” and he changed his tune quickly.
Once showered, we read books. I haven’t introduced them to Willa’s books yet, but Atlas is at the age where he’ll enjoy them soon. They’ll still go over Jace’s head, but he’ll sit and listen.
We’ve always geared our book selections toward Atlas because he has more opinions about what kind of stories he likes, so I wanted to make sure he was entertained. Jacedoesn’t know any different, and I won’t change our routine unless he puts up a fight.
“This was such a fun day, Mama. Dax should come over all the time.” Jace’s words ricochet around my mind as I tuck him into bed. I can’t say where they’ll land or what effect they’ll have.
“Do you?”
